"Go out such a day as this! Why, see how it snows."
"I must. You see I can stand. Oh, pray God, I may not be too late."
"But where do you wish to go, my dear? Can't I send my girl for you?"
"Where? Where? Ay, indeed. He did not tell me where. But then Cecil will not know where to find .... Thank God! Thank God!"
She sank down again upon the chair, relieved of her terrible anxiety; for she doubted not that if Cecil were unable to meet with Captain Heath, he would soon grow calmer, and look at things more rationally.
She waited for his return, however, with extreme uneasiness, fearful lest he should not have missed the captain; and dreading lest he should still continue his jealous suspicions. Free from all sentiment of jealousy herself, she could not understand Cecil's excessive susceptibility; and knowing Captain Heath so well as she did, she was perfectly convinced that her husband's jealousy was quite motiveless. This made her feel secure on this subject. Her deep sense of her own innocence, and of Heath's high-mindedness, made her convinced that Cecil must see the matter in its true light, so soon as he should calmly consider it.
It was nearly seven o'clock before her anxiety was relieved by hearing his knock at the door; but she screamed with terror as he entered the room. Although his coat and hat were covered with snow, he had left his chest exposed to the cold, and his shirt-collar and front were dripping with wet. He had evidently been altogether heedless of his person, and had given no thought of protecting it from the weather.
His face was pale and haggard, his eyes dull and blood-shot, his lips compressed—his whole aspect that of one who has just committed some fearful crime. She interrogated his face with watchful terror. He avoided her eye.
He seated himself in silence, and began brushing the snow off his hat. That completed, he placed his wet feet on the fender, and looked stedfastly at the fire.
Unable to bear this suspense, she went up to him, and laying her hand upon his shoulder, said timidly,—